


Eye to eye

by GonEwiththeWolveS



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (not mutual) dislike to friendship, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Canon Compliant, Cas is Dean's guardian angel, Guardian Angel Castiel (Supernatural), High School, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Milk is before cereal, Pre-Season/Series 01, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Teenchesters, fight me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-07-14 17:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16045232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GonEwiththeWolveS/pseuds/GonEwiththeWolveS
Summary: He was doing it again.Dean tensed, turning his head to look behind him. Just as expected, he found himself in the guy’s direct line of sight. It was more than a little awkward, considering the dude was wearing a frown that made it look like Dean was a particularly difficult stain to remove from his precious trench coat or something.OrThe one where Castiel takes the order to watch over Dean a bit too literally.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This if is a sort of test run, I guess. I've never written Destiel before, although most of time i'm reading it, so, here goes nothing.  
> I have this sort of planned out in my head, but I don't know when/if I'll have the time to write it down. Continuing this will also depend on the reception it gets, I guess. I'm not expecting much of one, though.  
> Anyway, I wanted to say updates are going to be almost definitely (like 98% chance) irregular, since college, among other things (but pretty much college), keeps me pretty busy. I really hope I can finish this fic, though.

He was doing it again.

Dean tensed, turning his head to look behind him. Just as expected, he found himself in the guy’s direct line of sight. It was more than a little awkward, considering the dude was wearing a frown that made it look like Dean was a particularly difficult stain to remove from his precious trench coat or something.

Dean threw him the deadliest glare he could manage, but the only response his attempt elicited was the nearly imperceptible deepening of his frown. It seemed like the guy had turned his favorite activity into studying Dean, in place of the actual information the teacher kept droning on about.

From the first day he stepped foot inside this damned school in Winterset, Iowa, those aggravating blue eyes had been short of super-glued to him. Two uncomfortable hours of class and an incredibly frustrating staring contest later, Dean had been set on confronting him and demanding some answers. The dork was fast, though, as soon as the bell had rung, he'd been out of the door before Dean had even registered it'd happened. He'd tried running after him, but, once he'd stepped foot outside the room, it was like the guy had vanished into thin air.

Following his lack of success at cornering the dude, Dean resorted to other means and started asking around. Most people seemed to have a hard time placing who he was talking about, which was odd enough in itself. After all, how many nerdy looking guys with unhealthy obsessions with trench coats (who in their right minds would wear a raincoat when there were 80 degrees out and not even the most remote signs of, well, rain) were there lying around here?

He finally caught a break when a particularly helpful girl, Vivian Hart he thought her name was, had some information to offer. She said the guy, Jimmy Novak, had been in a car crash three weeks prior to Dean’s arrival in town. The accident had claimed the lives of his parents and a younger sister named Claire who had all apparently been declared dead on the scene. Jimmy, however, was brought to the hospital where he had remained in a coma.

The guy’s prognosis had seemingly been grim. No one was expecting him to wake up after the extensive damage his body and especially his brain had sustained, much less be to be mentally functioning. Yet, a few days ago, he miraculously woke from his coma and walked out of the hospital on his own two legs.

“Sometimes fate’s just funny that way,” Vivian said, with a smile too big to be genuine. “but you shouldn’t waste too much of your time worrying about him. If you ask me, he seems completely unaffected by the whole thing. We think the accident left him wrong him in the head somehow, like he’s turned into sociopath or something like that,” she finished in a conspiration tone, her smile adopting a more seductive nature. “Besides, I can think of a much more interesting way for you to pass your time.”

He caught on to the hint and flashed her a smirk with a promise to take her up on that offer sometime in the near future. She went back to her friends after that, who all seemed rather more excited than was strictly necessary at her return.

Now, Dean recognized he could be an ass most of the time, but even he drew lines, and picking a fight with a guy who had just lost his family? That was most definitely crossing them. Especially when he looked like such an easy target already.

He wasn’t sure he shared Vivian’s opinion either. The guy didn’t seem very heartbroken, granted, but Dean had been on the job long enough for death to be a common occurrence to him. As a result, he knew, either from first or second hand experience, that grief affected everyone differently.

This Jimmy dude was really pushing it, though. The staring was starting to become a more than common occurrence. And Dean wasn’t an idiot, he knew he was generally easy on the eyes, but Jimmy didn’t exactly give off that impression. No, it was more like he was laser focused on Dean and everything he was doing. Maybe he thought that by immersing himself in Dean’s life he could avoid his own.

It got to a point where it was just ridiculous. Jimmy wouldn’t even bring anything to school. Not that Dean was that much different, but this guy didn’t exactly look the type (Dean did, however, take offense that the teachers didn’t nag Jimmy about it the way they did him, even under the circumstances). He simply walked in everyday, clad in his unfailing trench coat, hands empty, casually made his way to his usual seat at the back (a row behind where Dean usually sat) and sat there all day. Staring.

He tried to bring it up with a teacher at one point, but was dismissed with some half assed excuse about how Jimmy was just going through a rough time and this was his way of coping.

Whatever the reason was, Dean ultimately decided, much to his frustration, that he would just wait it out. He was bound to be leaving this lousy town soon, anyway.

It was the kind of place he hated the most, the small towns always reminded him of the time before the fire. When his mom was alive, and there was orange juice and fresh apple pies. Consequently, he’d been on edge for the past two weeks, since his dad had dropped him and Sammy off, and the silent staring treatment he was on the receiving end of was not helping.

John was dealing with a band of ghouls nearby, and normally he wouldn’t take more than two weeks to manage this kind of hunt, three weeks tops. So, at least Dean was confident he wouldn’t have to deal with Jimmy and his unrelenting (incredibly blue) eyes much longer.

He rolled his own and redirected his attention to the front of the class, where Vivian kept trying to get his attention. He winked at her when their eyes crossed paths, which resulted in an eruption of giggles between the girls at the front.

He could see how Vivian was every high school’s typical spoiled cheerleader with an obnoxious personality. Don’t get him wrong, as a general rule, he wasn’t very picky where he got his flings from, but he didn’t feel very inclined to pursue anything at the moment. Still, he humored her because he knew from experience that, if he rejected her, she would turn vindictive and that much harder to put up with.

The teacher, Mr. Salsbury, a man in dire need of a new eyeglass prescription cleared his throat in an effort to quiet down the giggling girls and resumed reciting something about the Pythagorean theorem after deeming it a failed effort.

Jimmy was still staring at him.

It was going to be a long day.

 

* * *

 

The bell rang and, once again, Jimmy shot out of his seat and headed for the exit, that ridiculous trench coat flapping around behind him before disappearing beyond the door.

Dean didn’t try to go after him anymore, he knew that the guy would already be gone by the time he crossed the threshold. How such a thing was possible escaped his understanding, and unfortunately no one seemed the slightest bit inclined to even wonder about it when he mentioned it in passing.

It was straight up unnatural, Jimmy went by everywhere unnoticed. No one talked to or about him most of time. In a place like this, where small news like Mr. Anderson finally mowing his yard made headlines, that should be enough of a warning sign. Adding to that Jimmy’s involvement in a local tragedy, he should be the talk of the town for at least the next decade. However, it was as if people didn’t even recall his existence until Dean brought it up. 

Dean kept musing on the matter as he made a right turn. His little brother was usually out of class by three, while Dean was freed from his own personal hell at two and a half. That left him with twenty minutes to waste, considering the walk from the local high to middle school took around ten minutes.

Normally, he would use that spare time to make a pit stop at the grocery store. That way he could grab some dinner. Because the shop was a little deviated from his path, by the time he made it to Sammy’s school, his little brother was already out of class and playing with the other kids.

Lately, he wouldn’t shut up about a girl named Chrissie he’d befriended, and Dean’s favorite pastime became teasing him about it. He loved flustering his brother and leaving him red-cheeked in embarrassment, he looked pretty adorable (not that he’d ever admit that to him).

Just as he was walking inside the store, he saw a group of local kids from his high school cruise by in a car, Vivian among them. To his frustration, the car slowed down to a stop as it neared him.

“Hey Dean!” she called out, a flirtatious half smile already planted on her face. “Want to come with us? We’re gonna go take a dive in the lake down by old man Jackson’s farm house.”

He really didn’t feel like going with them, and, thankfully, he had his brother to pick up, so he didn’t need to bother coming up with an elaborate excuse.

“Maybe some other time. Can’t right now.” 

Thankfully, Vivian didn’t insist as he was afraid she would. Her face just fell a little as she waved goodbye and the car sped off.

Dean figured the reason why he felt so opposed to Vivian originated in the lecture he received from his father three weeks ago. He’d gone out with a girl he’d met at the local high school, leaving Sammy by himself for a couple of hours in the motel room. His father had been none too pleased when he found out.

Usually they left Sammy alone in a motel room when Dean and their father went on hunts, as John said Sammy was still too young to come with them. Dean agreed, spending countless weeks going over lore and hunting basics with Sammy between hunts until he was sure that his brother could hold his own if left alone for more than a few days at a time. However, John had expressly forbidden Dean to leave his brother alone during nights when they were together, and if there was something Dean hated doing, it was disobeying his father. 

However, he apparently drove Sam up the wall with his frustration that day, and, in the end, it had been his brother kicking him out of the room. Sammy claimed that he was more than capable of taking care of himself for a couple of hours, as he had done so already, and that dad didn't need to know. Dean was then told, in no different terms, to ‘get lost’.

In hindsight, he shouldn't have even gone in the first place. He spent the whole time worrying and the girl could clearly see he had more important things on his mind than feeding her ego. 

Unfortunately, while he had been out, his father called to let them know he was going to take longer than expected to return from the hunt. A werewolf had gotten away after John had finished dealing with its pack and skipped town, so he had to go after the monster. As soon as he asked Sam to hand the phone over to Dean and got some flustered excuses in response, he knew something was up.

Dean had never been able to lie to his father, so, when John confronted him about it, he told the truth. His father made sure he wouldn’t think about repeating his mistake anytime soon.

He dismissed the memory with a wince and headed inside the grocery store, grabbing a bag of potato chips on the way to the canned goods aisle. His mind went back to Jimmy as he cruised the shelves, taking two cans of chicken.

After an entire week of being observed like an animal for display at a zoo, he’d done a bit of staring of his own. What he’d found, as one of the most serious cases of bed-hair he’d encountered in a while combined with oceans for eyes, lead him to conclude that there was no denying the guy was attractive. Even with his obvious lack of social skills and that insufferable trench coat.

He saw movement in the corner of his eye and turned his head, catching a flash of a light brown tissue disappearing behind the mountain of canned soup at the end of the aisle. He froze, eyes fixed where he’d seen a glimpse of the offending garment. Could it actually be Jimmy or was his mind playing tricks on him?

Dean all but ran there, but, as he already expected, there were no signs of the guy anywhere. The only person in sight was a bitter looking store clerk mopping up a puddle water next to the freezer, probably ice that melted when someone left the door open.

At the confused look the man threw at him, probably for expressing unusual enthusiasm about canned soup by running at the pile, he averted his attention to the labels. He felt his cheeks burn as he feigned interest for the  _brand-new recipe: 100% more flavor, 0% less health_. Grabbing one randomly he fled to the cash register, but not before snatching a piece of pie.

He would just hand the soup down to Sammy. Lately he’d been going on and on about health and how they ate crap all the time, so that ought to shut him up for a bit, at least. He’d probably bitch about Dean not grabbing one for himself, though.

But, more important than soup was the fact that Dean was losing his head. Either that or maybe Jimmy was some sort of monster and his dad went looking for a hunt in the wrong place.

He paid for the food and left the store, wanting nothing more than to put distance between himself and his place. However, as he stepped outside, a strange feeling took over him. Something was off, the way it usually happened before a hunt went sideways.

Dean could feel it in the air.

He stopped momentarily, looking around. He was already on edge, alert of his surroundings as he rested his hand on the bowie knife kept hidden in the waist of his pants. He was ready to engage at the first sign of danger, a skill his father enforced upon him. He should always be prepared for the worst, and never be taken by surprise. That’s how smart hunters stayed alive. Nothing physically seemed out of the ordinary, so he resumed walking with caution.

As he was rounding the block he heard commotion coming from the grocery store. He stopped dead in his tracks, turning around to identify the source of the disturbance. He slipped the knife from its hiding spot and kept it lowered at hip level, ready to strike if the occasion arose. The clerk from earlier stormed out of the building, the door slamming behind him. Just as the he reached the middle of the street the man halted abruptly, turning his head slowly until he was looking directly at Dean.

Dean felt chills going down his spine as he locked eyes with the man.

They stared at each other, Dean feeling the man’s eyes burrowing into what felt like his very soul for what felt like an eternity. Then, his gaze shifted to a point behind Dean, face turning scornful. Dean swore he could see his eyes darken from where he was standing fifteen yards away.

He spun on his heels, wary of what he might find. To his surprise, the street was empty behind him. Confused, he turned around again. The clerk was gone.

Thoroughly freaked out, Dean resumed walking away from the store and took on a fast pace as he headed to Sammy’s school. He was going to pick his brother up, take him straight to their motel room and then he was going to call his father.

Something was definitely wrong with this town, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

 

* * *

 

When he finally reached the school, Sammy had been entertained chatting with some other kids. Dean felt instinctively proud of his little brother for being so fast to make friends wherever they went, he was a social butterfly at his core. As a result, it saddened him to see Sam become increasingly more withdrawn and quiet lately.

Every time they switched towns, looking for the next case, his brother grew resentful, taking gradually more time to return to his usual cheery self between each move. Because Dean generally converted his unhappiness to anger, and Sammy didn’t know how to leave something be, there was an inevitable escalation of arguments between the brothers, which in turn left Dean more irritable. It was a vicious cycle.

The unavoidable temper tantrums that Sam threw following their departure really tested his father patience, though, so Dean made a special effort to be useful and obedient. He tried to keep his father’s wrath away from Sammy as best as he could.

He could sense Sam’s want to be normal, to fit in, and he wanted his brother to be happy, he did. As much as it hurt him to think about it, he knew subconsciously that Sam would probably choose to lead a different life when he was old enough to decide for himself. And he'd try to support him as best as he could. But, he also knew that when that day came, all hell would break loose. His father would be indubitably furious. And Dean wouldn’t have his little brother by his side anymore.

He loved his father, how could he not? He taught him everything he knew and if it weren’t for him he wouldn’t have survived this long. Yet, he dreaded the day he’d be left alone with an undoubtedly enraged John. Thinking on some memories of his father’s most altered states, he flinched.

Sam’s eyes met his and he finally noticed Dean’s presence. Waving the other kids goodbye, he made his way to his brother. Sammy knew him better than anyone, so, as soon as he was within speaking distance from Dean, he noted his agitated state.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, voice tinged with worry. “Did something happen with dad?”

Dean remained silent for a moment, pondering on what he should tell Sammy as he rested a hand on his nape, a gesture that probably served to reassure himself more than his little brother.

He decided on not saying anything about the strange occurrences yet. He was already going to inform his father anyway, and he didn’t want Sammy poking his nose in any of this before he figured out what was going on. It was the best way to keep his brother safe, knowing how quick Sam was to throw caution to the wind when he thought something was threatening his family (not that Dean was that much different, but his brother’s wellbeing took precedence to his own).

“Everything’s fine.” Dean assured him, guiding him away from the school and taking the backpack from his brother’s back and slinging his own arm through one of the straps, throwing it over his shoulder. He knew it would take more than a simple ‘no’ to deter Sammy, especially when he’d already caught scent of something being off. When he fussed, his little brother could be as persistent as a pit bull. A quality which Dean was not feeling all that thankful for having helped nourish at that moment.

As expected, his brother didn’t let up the questioning, not very convinced by Dean’s halfhearted excuses. He quieted down eventually, but not before Dean promised he’d explain everything as soon as they got to their motel room and he was able to talk with their father. After that, Sammy pretty much let himself be led without much resistance.

With his brother’s presence and the decreasing distance between them and the safety that talking to his dad provided, Dean started to feel calmer. If someone would know what to do, it would be John. His dad always knew the right course of action to take. Additionally, voicing the issues troubling his mind ought to put things in a different perspective and, hopefully, help him see something he’d missed beforehand.

He was so absorbed in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the fast approaching shadows or detect the telltale thump of steps behind him.

It happened fast.

One second, he was next to Sam, hand resting securely on the back of his neck. The next, he was across the alley, hitting the wall hard, with no idea where his little brother was. He fell to the ground with a groan.

Disoriented, he felt around himself for a sense of location. Everything was noise and pain. His vision had whitened out after hitting the wall, likely due to the force with which his head smacked against it, and the floor was cold and hard beneath him.

There was something trickling down his forehead, and he raised a hand to it. It came away wet and with a vaguely metallic smell. Blood, then.

His hearing had apparently been momentarily disabled as well, since it was now returning slowly. He registered the increasingly louder sounds of a struggle, as if someone was turning the volume knob up, coming from somewhere in his general proximity.

His vision cleared to a blurry state at fairly the same rate as his head. However, when it came, the realization that someone had ambushed them, and that Sammy wasn't there next to him, hit him like a ton of bricks. He jerked his head up, frantically looking for any sign of his little brother.

He saw three blurry figures engaged in a fight a few feet away, but realized, after a few moments of blind panic, that neither person fit Sammy’s frame. He tensed, raking his eyes over the place before coming to a stop at the sight of a familiar object. Sammy’s butterfly knife lied discarded on the ground, stained red.

His breath stilled in his throat when a small unmoving lump caught his attention just beyond the place where the blade was resting. He took in the brown denim jacket that once belonged to him, and still looked a little over sized on his baby brother, covering the immovable shape that was indubitably Sam, feeling his blood running cold.

“Sa- Sammy,” he grunted out, eyes fixed on his brother for any sign of movement.

He tried to push himself up, but his legs felt like they were made of lead, and his movements were sluggish. He adjusted his position so that he could lean against the wall for support, and finally managed to get somewhat upright.

Before he could start moving forward, something of considerate proportions landed on the floor in front of him. He recoiled out of instinct, losing his balance and nearly falling backwards with the pain that exploded in the back of his head at the sudden movement.

Once he regained his footing, his vision focused on the body in front of him. He recognized the clerk from earlier in the lifeless face staring back at him. The most horrifying about it, though, was the burned out empty space where the man’s eyes used to reside. He had no idea what kind of creature could manage something like that, and he’d come across quite a few in however short his time hunting had been thus far.

He stared at the dead man in shock, until he heard screams behind him. He turned his head in the direction of sound and saw a man screaming in agony, a light so intense coming out of his mouth and eyes that Dean had to avert his own. Once the blinding light disappeared, he heard the thud of something heavy hitting the ground.

He looked back and saw the man was now lying at the feet of someone else. Someone wearing a long coat. His eyes trailed up the imposing figure before he found himself eye to eye with the person that had proved to be the bane of his existence for the past two weeks.

Jimmy Novak stared back at him, impassive.      

He lost track of the time he spent staring slack-jawed at the guy, and when he snapped out of his stupor, he noticed that the clerk that had been thrown in front of him earlier and the man he now saw at Jimmy’s feet weren’t the only bodies in the alleyway. There were at least five others, spread around the place, and, as far as he could see, all of them had their eyes burned out.

Dean looked back at him, suddenly very aware of how close Jimmy was to him and his brother, who was still lying across the alley behind them. He wanted to put himself between them, but, as soon as he tried removing his hands from the wall he was using for support, he felt his legs begin to give out under his weight, so he remained where he was.

“What are you?” he demanded to know, trying to make himself look as intimidating as he could when he had to hug a wall to keep himself vertical. He hoped he wasn’t failing too miserably.

Jimmy’s face adopted what seemed like a curious expression and his head tilted slightly to the side, in a manner that had become far too familiar during the previous weeks. His gaze didn’t decrease in intensity.

“I’m here to protec—”

“That’s not what I asked,” Dean harshly cut him off, hoping to evoke some sort of reaction other than perfectly masked indifference or mild curiosity. That was getting old, fast.

The sound of Jimmy’s voice took him by surprise, though. It was completely different from anything he was expecting. Instead of being high-pitched and cracking, like a teenage boy of his appearance’s ought to, it was low, deep and dripping so much gravel you could pave an entire road with it.

Dean’s clear act of challenge seemed to give him pause. A frown formed on his face as he considered Dean, possibly debating on how to best handle the situation. Everything he did seemed calculated to the most minuscule detail and infeasible possibility, after all.

“I’m your appointed guardian,” Jimmy offered, raising his palms in a placating manner, as one would to soothe a wild animal. Dean briefly pondered on whether he looked that feral.

“What?” Dean replied dumbly. “What the hell—What are you talking about?”

Dean was aware he was lacking a certain coordination in his speech, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care at that moment. It seemed hard to care about anything much except his brother, actually.

Jimmy chose that moment to move forward, maybe deciding that Dean wasn’t that much of a threat after all. Dean was alert in an instant as he recognized Jimmy’s intent to head towards his little brother.

“Don’t come near him!” he used all of his strength to bellow at Jimmy. His voice betrayed his intentions, though, his fear showing in the way it cracked at the end.

It wasn’t a complete waste, his effort had the desirable effect. Jimmy paused, turning to look at him.

“I am merely going to determine whether your brother was injured. He might be in need of medical assistance,” he explained. “I wish him no harm.”

Dean didn’t buy it for a second, but he settled on: “Then bring me to him.”

Jimmy appeared to ponder it for a second, before altering his path and heading towards Dean instead. Once he was within grasping distance, Dean released the wall he’d been clinging onto for dear life and switched to Jimmy’s shoulder for support. The guy didn’t show any signs of even feeling the added weight.

He limped over to Sammy’s prone body, aided by Jimmy, before finally sinking to his knees beside his brother. He was beyond relieved to find him breathing normally. He raised a hand to his brother’s forehead, sweeping his bangs away and peering at his face. His fringe was getting too long, so Dean made a mental note to give his brother a proper haircut as soon as they were out of harm's way.

“Hey, Sammy,” he breathed, eyes searching for any sign of wakefulness. “Can you hear me?”

Jimmy crouched down next to him, one of his hands coming to rest over Sam as well. Dean didn’t take his eyes off him, wary of his intentions.

“He is unharmed,” Jimmy informed him after a minute. “He seems to be unconscious as a result of the blow he suffered to the back of the head, but no real damage was sustained. I believe the demons had no intentions of harming him, they simply wished to incapacitate him.”

He did a backtrack at Jimmy’s words. Demons? No way. Those things were the only monsters he’d ever heard his father talk about with open apprehension. They were one of the most (if not the simply the worst) dangerous creatures that existed, and it was very rare for one to surface, much less two simultaneously. You didn’t just happen to come across ten of them on a random alley in an anonymous town such as this one.

Before he could reflect more on the matter, Jimmy lifted his hand in Dean’s direction, his other one still resting on Sammy’s head. He tried to reel back, but Jimmy was fast. As soon as his hand reached Dean’s forehead, he was plunging into nothingness.

He had no idea what to compare it too, it was unlike anything he’d ever felt. The only thing that might have remotely resembled it in a way that was still too tame in comparison to the real thing, was being caught in an ocean swell, like that one time he and Sammy sneaked over to the beach when their dad was working a case in California.

Sooner than he realized, he was grounded again. He would have plummeted to the floor if he hadn’t already been on it. As it were, he swayed in place until the fog that was clouding his mind dissipated. To his shock, a familiar set of beds and tacky decoration took shape in front of him.

“How—” Dean stammered, gaping at Jimmy who was currently depositing Sammy in his bed. Jimmy didn’t appear to pay much mind to Dean’s stupefaction, however. “Did you just… teleport us to our motel room?”

“It was faster than walking,” Jimmy simply stated as he walked back to where dean sat on the grubby carpet.

Overlooking the fact that Jimmy had just done something not humanly possible, he seemed unaffected by the salt lines Dean had put up to protect the room. Since Jimmy had no problem breaking them in order to get inside the room, and because salt was a supernaturally pure element and repelled all evil and hell spirits, he could conclude Jimmy was neither. That didn’t necessarily mean he was good, and it didn't rule out other creatures.

Reassured by the fact that, at least, Jimmy wasn’t a demon, he decided to not put up any resistance just yet as the guy approached him. Jimmy lifted him by the armpits and Dean threw an arm around his shoulders before the dude could get any ideas about carrying him. He tried as best as he could to hold onto some of his dignity as Jimmy helped him limp to his own bed.

He let out a grunt and some expletives as he collapsed onto the mattress. Judging by the reproachful look on Jimmy’s face, he didn’t approve of the colorful use of language.

“Is Sammy really going to be ok?” Dean inquired as he made himself comfortable, throwing a glance at the seemingly sleeping boy on the bed across from his own.

“Yes, he managed to escape the ordeal unscathed,” Jimmy confirmed. “I’m afraid the same can’t be said for you.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean tensed as he fixed his eyes on Jimmy. “I’m fine.”

He might be a little sluggish and feel like he’s been hit by train, but he’d been a lot worse for wear than this before. He didn’t even have any broken bones this time. It was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Jimmy’s sight lowered from Dean’s eyes to his nose, and he raised his eyebrows as if to ask ‘oh really?’. Dean frowned, becoming aware of something dripping from his nostril. He brought his hand up, wiping his nose. It came away bloody.

“So? It’s just a nose bleed,” he dismissed Jimmy, wiping the blood away in the bed sheets. “It’s not like I’ll die.”

“You appear to have a concussion,” Jimmy clarified, raising his hand to Dean’s head. “If left untreated, you might. Hold still.”

Dean flinched, remembering exactly what had happened last time Jimmy had done this. He didn’t want to suffer through feeling like he’d been sucked into a vacuum cleaner again. However, once Jimmy’s fingers reached his forehead, instead of disorientation and turbulence, he felt his mind clear, like rain washing away the dirt.

It wasn’t just his head, though, he hadn’t felt this good in a long time. He didn’t know what Jimmy had done, but it had cleared away five years of broken bone aches and all the numbness that came with general sleep deprivation.

“Who are you?” Dean asked, looking up at him with cautious wonder.

Jimmy remained silent, studying him. From this close, Dean was engulfed by the ocean blue of his eyes, a shade so deep he felt it would be easy to drown in them.

“Castiel.” He volunteered hesitantly after a few seconds, breaking eye contact.

“What?” Dean frowned in confusion, standing up from the bed. He expected Jimmy to take a step backwards, to accommodate the change in position, but he didn’t back away. The room between them was now bordering on uncomfortably small, Dean noted with unease. “I thought your name was Jimmy.”

Jimmy opened his mouth, as if to explain, but closed it again after a while of no sound coming out, maybe deciding it wasn’t worth the effort after all. He sighed dejectedly. “It does not matter.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter!” Dean exclaimed, narrowing his eye in irritation. “I think I deserve some answers after what just happened, especially considering the silent treatment you’ve been gifting me with for the last two weeks! Oh, and the staring, let's not forget. Not cool, dude.”

“It’s pointless. Whatever information I give you, you will forget”—Castiel, or whatever his name was, paused, averting his eyes from Dean’s, as if remorseful—“you won’t remember any of this.”

“Wha—” Dean started to ask, frowning in confusion as he saw Castiel raise his hand one last time. There was just enough time to dawn on him what was about happen and to shoot Castiel an angry betrayed look before the hand landed on his forehead.

That son of a bitc—

Before he could finish that train of thought, everything went blank.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally managed to finish chapter 2! Sorry if it's a little rushed, I kept hitting blocks and stuff... Any mistakes are mine and mine alone. Thanks for the support!

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Dean groans at the alarm clock, rolling over in bed. The stupid thing doesn’t relent though, and he has half a mind to throw it at the wall and watch it shatter into a million pieces. Then he remembers the _lengthy_ lecture that Sammy unfailingly delivers following Dean’s morning outbursts of destructive fury and thinks better of it. It’s too damn early to get an earful on _anger management._

He sits up in bed, stretching his muscles. To his surprise, the soreness that usually comes with the movement is mysteriously absent. In fact, he feels better than he’s ever remembered feeling in his life. No familiar ache of fading bruises or the usual headache that accompanies general lack of sleep. His forearm didn’t even hurt from the radius fracture he’d gotten on the Rugaru hunt four weeks ago. _Strange_.

He cracked his eyes open to see Sammy’s familiar frame over by the table, munching away on some Lucky Charms. His little brother turns his head to look at him, the beginnings of a smirk forming on his face.

“Morning,” he greets, amusement clear on his face. There’s some random cartoon playing on tv that Sam appears to be only partially watching, since he has an open notebook by his side in which he keeps scribbling. Probably school stuff. If there’s something you could count on Sam for, it’s for him to be a little nerd.

He was permanently studying and, to Dean’s perpetual shock, actually seemed to enjoy it. He had no idea where Sam got his genius from, but if he had to hazard a wild guess he’d bet it’d been from their mom.

He’d passed the doctor phase a few months ago and was now dead set on becoming a lawyer. Dean couldn’t say it wasn’t entertaining, but it always left a bitter taste in his mouth when Sam talked excitedly about his dream job around their father. The usual arguments that followed weren’t exactly kosher either.

Dean grunts in response and gets up from the bed, struggling to find the mute button on the cheap ass motel clock. After an eternity he finally manages to shut the hellish thing up for good. _Thank god._ He was about two seconds away from salt and burning the thing, Sammy’s disapproval face be damned. No lecture was worth his sanity.

“Has dad called?” He asks, leaning down to grab a clean shirt from his duffle bag and heading over to the kitchenette as he pulls it over his head.

“Nah,” Sammy replies, turning his attention back to his notebook as Dean grabs a bowl for himself and joins him at the table. “It’s been radio silence so far.”

Dean contemplates this as he pours some milk into his bowl. Their father hadn’t called to give them an update in a week, and while it wasn’t unusual for John not to call for more than a few days at a time, it always left his nerves fraying.

“Well, if we haven’t heard anything by tonight, I’ll give him a call.” Dean decides as he grabs the cereal, more to reassure himself than his brother. He wanted to put this town in the rearview mirror like _yesterday_.

They finish breakfast as the cartoon plays out on the small tv screen. Not before long, Dean finds himself engrossed in the show. So what, he’d always had a soft spot for Scooby Doo? Sue him, that dog is a national treasure.

The sound of Sammy calling out his name is what finally breaks his attention sometime after, and the traces of annoyance in his brother’s voice suggests it isn’t his first attempt at getting Dean’s attention.

“Didn’t the clock say 7:30 ten minutes ago?” Sam inquires, raising his brows as he directs a suspicious look at the clock.

Dean shrugs in response, not really paying much attention to Sam before looking back to the tv and kicking his feet up on the table.

“Dean!” Sam scolds, shooting him an insistent look and pushing his feet away as he scrunches his nose up and mumbles something about them eating at that table.

Dean grumbles at his brother, letting his feet fall to the ground with a thud before groaning and getting up to grab his burner phone from the bed.

“Shit,” he curses as the screen lights up and the tiny clock at the top blinks 7:52 at him. Great, they’re late. Sammy’s going to kill him.

His little brother shoots ups from his chair, dashing to Dean’s side and ripping the phone from his hands to check the time himself.

“We’re late!” Sam voices Dean’s thoughts, turning to direct an accusing look towards him. “You broke the stupid clock!”

“How is this my fault?” Dean protests, roughly taking his phone back and shoving it into his pocket. “That cheap piece of crap was three and a half ticks away from becoming a glorified paperweight.”

Sam huffs, pushing past him to grab his stuff. While his brother collects the books he scattered across the motel room, Dean begins his morning daily routine. After checking every salt line and making sure they’re still unbroken, he hides the shotgun he keeps propped up against his bed in the closet and puts away every vestige of supernatural related research in sight.

He won’t make the mistake of leaving the weapons he can’t take with him unattended in the motel room again, they don’t need a repeat of the Michigan disaster. They’d had to hightail out of town after the motel manager dropped by unannounced in their room to check for a water leak. They’d been away at school when he called the cops on them after being thoroughly freaked out by the arsenal and occult research they’d left out and about.

He goes to wait by the door for his brother when he’s finished. Sammy emerges a few moments later with his backpack slung over one shoulder, shooting past him.

“Hurry up,” He barks out, face flushed with barely contained irritation. “Any slower you’d be a sloth!”

 “Hilarious,” Dead deadpans, locking the door behind him. “What are you complaining to me for? You’re the one who wouldn’t move their ass.”

“ _You_ broke the clock!” Sam argues back, throwing his arms out in an exasperated gesture.

They went back forward for a while, before settling on an uneasy silence. When they reach the narrow passage they usually take as a shortcut to school, as usual, Sam makes a turn for it.

As Dean starts to follow, a strong sense of foreboding stops him dead in his tracks. He reaches out and grabs a hold of Sam’s nape, pulling him back on instinct. His brother stumbles back and bumps into him, surprised by the sudden hold on him.

“What the hell, Dean!” Sam complains, turning to look at him with a scowl and shrugging his hand off angrily.

Dean looks down at his brother, letting his hand fall to his side. He hesitates for a second at Sam’s expecting look before muttering “Don’t go through there.”

“Why not?” Sam asks impatiently, confusion and irritation merging on his face.

Dean had no words to describe the somber apprehension that took over him when he took that alley in, but he knew he didn’t like it, and that trying to explain that to Sam right now would fall on deaf ears.

His gut feeling was telling to put as much distance between _it_ and them as he could. He didn’t understand why, but he knew to trust his instincts by now.

“Because,” Dean simply states to a dumbfounded Sam.

“That’s not a valid reason, Dean.” Sam snaps, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him forward “Now cut it out, we’re late.”

Dean resists the tug, taking advantage of Sam’s hold on him to haul him away from the alley. Sam digs his heels in, but, in the end, he’s forced to fall into step with Dean as they leave the alley behind.

Sam fumes for the entirety of what’s left of the way, refusing to look at Dean and ignoring all attempts at conversation.

When they finally reach the school, Dean stops, turning to his brother, who was focusing very hard on the plane tree across from them. Dean lets out a sigh, running a hand over his face.

“Got your lunch? Books?” He asks, getting a curt furious nod in reply from his brother who still wasn’t looking at him. “Butterfly knife too?”

At that though, Sam doesn’t nod right away. He hesitates, averting his eyes from the platanus, looking down. Dean knew his brother better than he knew himself, which meant he could read him like a book.

“You lost your knife?” Dean hisses, grabbing his brother’s arm to keep him still when he tries to walk away. “That was a present from dad, you know he’s gonna be pissed when he finds out you lost it!”

“I don’t know what happened, ok!” Sam barks back, turning around to face Dean and tearing his arm from his brother’s hold roughly. “I had it yesterday, and when I woke up today I couldn’t find it anywhere.”

They glare at each other, Dean’s scowl being met by Sam head on. As they stand there, a few seconds go by. Dean knew Sam could be every bit as stubborn as him, even more so, and that what they were doing was basically an exercise in futility. They could very well be there all day if Dean didn’t relent.

“Fine,” Dean ultimately snaps, reaching inside his leather jacket and grabbing the pocket knife he kept hidden there for emergencies. He thrusts the blade in Sam’s hand, handle first. “Take this one.”

“Fine,” His brother repeats sharply in reply, putting the knife away.

After exchanging one last glare, Sam turns his back and walks inside the school. Dean watches his retreating back, bottled up anger seething under the surface.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean’s day hadn’t gotten off on the best of starts, and unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be looking up anytime soon.

After dropping Sammy off, the last thing he wanted was to go to class and be forced to sit through six more hours of _Novak’s stares_ , or fend off Vivian’s advances. So, he opted on ditching class to go blow off some steam before he ripped someone’s head clean off. Since there were no vamps around for target practice, he had to settle for taking a walk.

He doubted the school would try to call his father, and, even if they did, he’d switched the front office’s records on the first day as per their usual M.O. It was better if they left no trace behind when they inevitably left town. No way to track them down made it harder for social services to catch wind of them if any teacher or school faculty got a little bit too suspicious about their extracurricular activities.

He didn’t know where to go, though. He didn’t really feel like going back to the motel and, despite the two weeks he had already spent here, he wasn’t very familiarized with the town. It seemed pointless to get acquainted with the places they stayed in when they were usually out of them before the end of the week.

As he walked, he remembered meeting Vivian outside the grocery store the day before. She’d mentioned something about a lake and since he had nothing better to do, he figured he’d might as well try and find it.

He wandered around for a bit outside the farm Vivian had referred to, taking in the scenery. It was peaceful here, silent. The only sounds were the chirps of birds from the trees and the occasional howl of a stray dog in the distance.

He reached the aforementioned lake some fifteen minutes after. It wasn’t very big, but it looked deep enough to be able to swim freely in.

He took off his shoes, putting them to the side on the rocky floor before rolling up the legs of his pants. Then he stepped forward, approaching the waterline and dipping his feet in to get a feel of the water. It wasn’t freezing like he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t very warm either. It was nice, refreshing.

He stayed there, watching the trees sway in the wind and the water swirl, until he lost track of time.

He was lost in thought when he felt the air change. It was hard to explain, but it felt like the crackling of electricity, like deep _raw_ power cursing through the air. There no visible signs of change, though. The birds didn’t scatter, the lake water remained undisturbed. Nothing seemed to sense something was amiss, just Dean. He felt an involuntary shudder going down his spine.

A few seconds went by, minutes, and still, nothing happened. He could still feel the electricity, though, sizzling somewhere behind him, close enough to touch. He felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.   

Then, something deep inside him cracked or– no, that’s not the word – something _unfolded,_ it felt like his _soul_. It extended, as if someone was pulling it apart like play-doh, and wrapped around something else, _something new_ and _alive_.

It was the strangest thing he’d ever felt in his life, and the fact that it didn’t feel the slightest bit unnatural or out of place only made it more terrifying. It was as if a part of him that had been empty all his life had found its missing piece, like part of a puzzle that was finally complete.

He jolted into action, all but running away from the water. He almost tripped over his shoes, barely stopping to grab them and slip them on before resuming his escape. He didn’t stop running until he reached the high school.

When he finally walked into class and brushed aside Mr. Salsbury’s exasperated reprimand for skipping out on almost the entire morning with the added threat of calling his father (he was getting cheeky), he was surprised to find the seat at the back that had lately given him such grief was vacant. That was a first in the two weeks since he’d been here.

It should have at least granted him some relief, the respite from the daily _staring_. Instead though, Dean found himself growing suspicious and uneasy. The fact that he couldn’t pinpoint the cause of that reaction added to the new inexplicable presence in the confines of his soul only left him more on edge.

 

* * *

 

 Castiel remained by the lake long after the boy had left. He was in need of some time for introspection himself.

He’d merely come to check on Dean, to make sure everything was still proceeding normally, and the demons hadn’t made another advance while he was off investigating the previous one. Something about the scene he’d encountered had captivated him though. The boy’s soul shone so brightly, reflected by the lake water, it eclipsed the rays of sunshine that peeked through the trees.

He’d never seen anything so breathtaking and mesmerizing in his existence, or such a pure and radiant soul. He’d understood the importance of the task he’d been assigned to as soon as he laid eyes on his charge for the first time, and he swore to fulfill his duties to the best of his abilities.

His orders were clear. He’d been instructed to observe and report, to keep interaction to a minimum, ensuring the boy stayed alive. And if the brothers ever came across hell spawn, he was to alert heaven immediately, and in no circumstance should he get involved.

The commands did puzzle him a bit, especially considering no human had been bestowed with celestial protection by a large hundred years. However, it was unfathomable to question or doubt heaven’s intentions, so he’d stayed silent and complied, grateful to be the one chosen for such a sacred task. He’d followed his instructions with minimal complications, ensuring the boy stayed alive. Until now.

As soon as he had seen the demon outside of store the previous day, he’d known something was wrong. But, the creature had retreated as soon as it saw him, and he figured the sight of a celestial being was enough to scare the thing off to whatever dark corner it had escaped from.

He convinced himself it wasn’t worth bothering heaven about, as it could be a simple coincidence. Some demons still roamed the earth, scarce as they might be, and one chance encounter did not mean the Winchesters were automatedly implicated.

However, it hadn’t been chance, and the demons made a move. He knew he should have informed heaven immediately, as he had failed to do earlier, but, if he’d left in that moment, there wouldn’t have been any guarantee that Dean would have survived. And he’d found he wasn’t willing to take that risk.

He realized he’d grown attached to the boy after his time of watching over him. After seeing the selfless way in which he cared for his brother and how he strived to appease others, sometimes at great personal cost. It was fascinating to study humanity with all their flaws and strengths.

What was done was done, though. And if he had to let heaven know that he’d gotten involved when he wasn’t supposed to, he might as well be in possession of all the facts when he made his final report to Zachariah. 

So, after concealing the memories of the attack from the brothers’ minds, he found some demons to interrogate. Hardly any of the foul creatures seemed to have any information regarding the events, or they had refused to share it. Castiel was less inclined to believe the latter, though, as he considered himself well versed in the arts of persuasion.

After hours of no progress, he’d come to the conclusion that whatever demon or entity had planned the attack, it was being kept under wraps, and scarce were the ones that had any knowledge of the ploy. He’d have to dig much deeper if he wanted to obtain any information, and he’d reached the end of the free rope he was allowed before having to disclose his findings to his superiors.

Before doing that, however, he’d returned to check on the boy one last time. It was completely possible and probable that they’d remove him as the boy’s guardian and, selfishly, he found he didn’t wish for that to happen.

And that’s how he ended up by the lake, watching the boy dip his feet in the cool water.

He hadn’t just used the past hours for exterior inspection, though, he’d done a fair amount of soul-searching. And he’d been taken back to when he’d first been assigned this post, when Zachariah had relayed the rules upon him. How he’d expressed his confusion after being ordered not to interfere wherever hell was involved, and his superior had brushed him off **.** _But what if he dies by their hands while I am tasked with informing you of the succeedings_ he’d inquired, to which Zachariah, seemingly uninterested, had replied _Then he dies._

It was clear to him now that heaven wasn’t interested in protecting Dean Winchester from hell, which confused Castiel greatly. After all, why go to such great lengths to protect the boy’s life if they would let it be taken by the pit in the end?

He walked closer to the boy, until all that separated them was a thin curtain of air. He was cloaked from him, so there should be no sign of acknowledgement, still he watched amazed as a shudder ran down his back. It’s far from the first time the boy has surprised him, he seems to have an uncanny ability to sense Castiel’s presence in his subconscious. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he wasn’t human. But, the almost blinding pure human soul the boy possessed was proof to the contrary.

Standing there, he knew he didn’t want to relinquish the opportunity he’d been given. He didn’t want to leave. For the first time in a long time, Castiel felt an all-consuming desire to have something for himself.

And so, in that moment, he made a decision. One he was instantly sure he’d regret.

 

* * *

 

 Dean was so wound up that, when Vivian made her daily pass on him, he found himself going along with it. He figured it would be a good outlet for his frustration, to get his mind off things, God knew he needed it. It had worked in the past, so he figured he’d give it a try.

He let her tug him away with whispered sweet talk and coy smiles, ultimately ending up in a janitor’s closet with 90 pounds of grabby cheerleader.

“Dean,” she moans as he kisses along her jaw, before moving down to suck at her neck. He feels her hands sliding down his back, settling over his back pockets.

He takes her reaction for the encouragement it is and slips his hands under her shirt, exploring the naked skin of her stomach. It isn’t enough though, he can still feel that baffling energy in the pit of his stomach, just _resting there_. He pauses, frowning as he tries to internally rebel against it. He feels it move suddenly, recoiling as if hurt.

Before he can reflect on it and the misplaced guilt he instantly feels at prodding the thing, Vivian moves her hands to grab at the lapels of his leather jacket. She tugs him closer, apparently upset at his momentary lack of activity. He responds by sliding his hands under her bottom and lifting her up, holding her against the wall.  
She wraps her legs around him and bares her neck, so he can continue his ministrations.

If it had been any other day, and he hadn’t been as out of it as he was, he would have noticed Vivian’s hand sliding something into his jacket pocket. As it where, he simply carried on, pressing his lips down her neck.

He was about to reach for the buttons of her blouse when he’s pushed back roughly. He rams his back into the shelves hard, cleaning products flying everywhere. He finds purchase on the ledge, managing to keep himself upright. How the hell did she even have the strength to push him so hard?

He opens his mouth to give the crazy bitch a piece of his mind when he notices the venomous sneer on her face. He closes his mouth soundlessly in a physical demonstration of his confusion as she approaches him, almost _sauntering_.

He can’t believe he’s only noticing now, but there is something seriously _wrong_ about her. He can’t explain it, but it’s like there’s an aura of something vile around her, and it’s radiating dark with power.

“Poor, _poor_ Dean Winchester,” she taunts, voice drawling and eyes beam with malicious intent. “Who’ll help you now?”

He reaches for his pocket knife instinctually, panic striking when he can’t feel its familiar shape on the hidden compartment of his jacket. With a silent curse he realizes he’d given it to Sam earlier. The little ball of energy inside him twists unhappily.

He sets his jaw, bringing his balled fists up as he shoots her a challenging look. Who cares if he didn’t have his knife, he didn’t need a weapon to kick someone’s ass – or _something’s_. His newly found sixth sense was telling him whatever was in front of him wasn’t human, and it was looking for a fight.

At his provocation, her smirk widens, contorting her face in a way that is barely human. She resembles the wicked witch of the west now, apparently delighted by his defiance.

He throws a fist experimentally, which is caught immediately by Vivian’s hand in seemingly supernatural speed. It was like hitting a brick wall. He feels his wrist joint give as he cries out in pain. Her smirk grows impossible wider, showing teeth, and her eyes flash with amusement before changing color.

_Shit_. They were black.

 

* * *

 

 Sam found himself not catching much of English class, much to his growing frustration. He hated fighting with his brother, as it always left him uncapable of focusing on anything else. The fact that he couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to the Mr. Miller was only leaving him more irritated, seeing as the class he was currently in was one he enjoyed normally.

When the bell finally rings, he huffs, getting up to join his classmates in recess. He’s about to walk through the door when Mr. Miller calls out his name. He stops, turning to look at his teacher.

“Come here, Sam. Please,” Mr. Miller requests, beckoning him closer. “I’d like to discuss something with you.”

Mr. Miller was a nice man, one that visibly cared about his students, as dimwitted or challenging as they might be. It was noticeable he actually appreciated his job, which was a quality that was hard to find in Sam’s opinion (and he should know, he’s been to his fair of schools). Sam approaches the desk and Mr. Miller waits patiently until all the other students have left the room, sorting through some papers to pass the time.

“I noticed you were a bit distracted this morning,” he comments once they’re alone, shooting Sam a concerned look as he takes a pause from assorting the papers. “Is there anything going on with you? Or maybe a problem at home?”

Sam contemplates his teacher, thinking back to all the fights he’d had with his dad and Dean. To all the times someone has asked the same question and he has pondered telling them. About their life, the hunting, how he wants to leave and be normal. He’s far from stupid, and he knows no one in their right minds would let children keep on doing what they were doing if they knew about it.

But then he thinks about his brother, and he feels guilty. He could never do that to Dean. He knew what would happen if people found out. The disbelief and the pity. How people would come to take them away and he might not see Dean or his father again for a very long time, and then again, maybe never. He couldn’t let that happen.

And so, he always says “No, everything’s fine.”

Mr. Miller looks unconvinced, but he nods and lets him go, maybe seeing something in Sam’s demeanor that tells him not to press the matter.

“Well, if you ever need to get something off your chest, I’m always available.” Mr. Miller says, shooting him a short smile.

Sam offers a smile back, before the reminder that soon his father will be back, and they’ll have to leave this town turns it bitter. He exists the classroom, making his way down the hallway to go meet his friends before the bell rings again and signals the beginning of math class.

He stops by his locker to drop off his books. As he’s putting the combination in, he hears muffled crying. He pauses, listening to the sound as he tries to figure out where it’s coming from. He abandons the padlock and walks in its direction, ending up in front of the boy’s bathroom.

He hesitates at the door but, when the crying continues, he pushes the it open. He peeks inside, calling out “Hello? Is everything ok?”

The crying stops abruptly and he waits a few seconds, waiting for a response. When none comes, he enters the bathroom, letting the door slip shut behind him.

“Hey, it’s fine,” he reassures, walking closer to the stalls. “You can talk to m–”

He comes to a stop, leaving his sentence unfinished as he realizes in confusion that all the stalls are open and empty. He looks around in bewilderment, taking a cursory look at the bathroom. He’s about to leave, convinced someone just pulled a prank on him, when he spots something on the windowsill. Some kind of thread. Frowning, he approaches the window, picking up the familiar cord.

With alarm, he realizes why he recognized it. Dean’s amulet hangs in his hand, the one he’d given him for Christmas. He processes the information, feeling dread starting to set in. If the necklace is here, then something has happened to his brother, he never takes it off his chest.

And it has to be here for a reason. Someone is trying to send a message, and whoever it is he knew he would understand it.

A hunt? But they were careful, and there were no reports of anything remotely supernatural happening in this town. Could it be what their dad was working on? He found it difficult to believe John would put them in harm’s way like this. He was good covered his tracks and if he’d thought they were compromised, he would have called to warn them.

A dark thought pops up in Sam’s head then. What if the reason they hadn’t heard anything from their father lately was because whatever he was hunting had finally got to him? It was always hard not to consider it when they were left to their own devices for days on end, but it had never been true before. What if it had happened for real now? What if their father was lying dead on the ground somewhere, and whatever got him had Dean too?

He felt panic taking over him as he clutched the necklace in his hand, dark scenarios running through his head. Then, with growing terror, he came to a realization, someone had put the necklace on the windowsill and lured him to the bathroom with muffled crying. He was being baited, and he fell for it.

A cackle of laughter sounds behind him, startling him and making him drop the necklace. He turns around and, to his shook, sees Mr. Miller standing in front of the door. There is a sadistic smile that looks horribly out of place on his face. Whatever is in front on him right now, isn’t his teacher.

Mr. Miller’s eyes turn black.


End file.
